


Always A Foot Apart

by CantStopImagining



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 05:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5773999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantStopImagining/pseuds/CantStopImagining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For a long while, she thought she would live the rest of her life without Delia, and she managed to keep it together then, whilst her heart was being ripped to shreds, so she could keep it together now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She helps Delia carry her suitcases through to the bedroom down the hall, trying to conceal her excitement. Of course, she’d have loved to share a room, but just having Delia in the same building as her is enough. Having her in the same country is an improvement. The last few weeks, she’s been so excited she’s struggled to sleep at night, and trying to organise the move without coming across as over eager has been effort enough. She feels giddy. It’s ridiculous, she knows, but she can’t help but feel like this is a second chance at the life they could have lived if the accident hadn’t happened. Whilst worries nag at the back of her mind - they’re going to have to be so careful, so discreet; they won’t have a moment’s privacy - she tries to focus on the excitement.

“It was awfully nice of Phyllis to offer me her room,” Delia says, as they push open the wooden door and she surveys her new home, “though of course, I’d be happy anywhere as long as it’s near you.”

Patsy smiles, her cheeks warm, “we thought Barbara probably the most appropriate roommate. Sister Evangelina is _thrilled_ to have Nurse Crane bedding with her…” 

She laughs, causing Delia to join in doing the same. Of course, Sister Evangelina had had a few things to say about having to share with someone who she was constantly locking horns with, but with nowhere else to put their new occupant, she had had to swallow her pride a little.

“I’ll only be two doors down,” she adds, quickly, as she sets Delia’s things down on her new bed. She hadn’t many possessions, only two small suitcases, and Patsy couldn’t help but wonder if her mother hadn’t thrown away some of her old things. She certainly didn’t remember Delia travelling so light.

“It’s not quite our flat, is it?” Delia interjects, her voice wistful and sad.

Pausing, Patsy turns to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She breathes in the familiar scent of Delia’s shampoo, enjoys the way she slots into the space beside her perfectly, her chin landing directly on top of her head. She wants to kiss her, but it’s too risky.

“It’s more than I dared to dream,” Patsy whispers, letting her go, and turning back to the bed to unpack.

-

It’s incredible how easily Delia fits into life in Nonnatus. 

Actually, it isn’t. Patsy didn’t doubt for a second that she would. There’s something about Delia, the warmth and passion and joy in her, that makes her perfectly likeable to everybody. She moves around the old building in much the same way she did the nurse’s station; laughing and chatting and bringing smiles to everyone she encounters, helping with chores without being prompted, and assisting Sister Monica Joan with her handicrafts with the patience even Sister Winifred lacks occasionally. Sister Julienne is very fond of her - she seemed to be before Delia had even moved in. That’s perhaps just part of Delia’s natural charm.

Still, Patsy has to remind herself not to get too comfortable with their arrangements. When Delia stands on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek on the way out the door, she can’t help but feel everyone’s eyes on her, even if they’re not. She tries not to sit too close at the dinner table, not to sit huddled with their heads too close together in the sitting room. It’s achingly difficult, being so close to the life they imagined, but still so far away, but Patsy knows it’s better than the alternative. For a long while, she thought she would live the rest of her life without Delia, and she managed to keep it together then, whilst her heart was being ripped to shreds, so she could keep it together now. She had to.

One night she arrives back from a long labour to a house bustling with activity, and even as she pushes the heavy door open she’s greeted by her favourite sound of all: Delia’s laugh. How ever exhausted and weary the birth had made her, she can’t help but brighten up at the rich sound echoing through the old walls, as she searches for the source of it.

It doesn’t take her long to locate Delia. She’s perched between Barbara and Sister Winifred in the sitting room, huddled over the table like schoolgirls, their heads closer than Patsy ever dares to stand.

“Oh! Pats!” Delia exclaims, almost causing her to bump heads with Barbara in her hurry. She wipes flour-covered hands on an old apron and grins, “you’re just in time!”

Patsy’s lips quirk into a smile of their own accord, no doubt her eyes getting that dreamy look in them that Delia is always making fun of. She shakes it off though, instead nearing the table to get a better look at what’s going on.

“Just in time for what exactly?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, “you three certainly seem to have made a mess.”

“They’re biscuits,” Sister Winifred says, matter of factly, elbowing Barbara who is trying very hard not to giggle beside her.

“Well, they’re supposed to be,” Winifred frowns.

“Only,” Barbara says, between splutters of laughter, “Sister Winifred leant on them and—”

She turns to reveal a large biscuit-mix covered section of her habit. 

“I’m sure they’ll taste lovely,” Delia, ever the optimist, chimes in, but even she can’t swallow her laughter.

They spend the next 30 minutes re-rolling the dough and cutting out the shapes again, Barbara spending more time eating the raw mixture than really helping, Delia telling stories of baking with her Mam, most of which end in more laughter. Patsy doesn’t have much baking expertise to offer, and even if she did she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She loses herself in Delia’s tales of home, in the rich sound of her animated voice. By the time their efforts are finally in the oven, it’s practically tea time. They go upstairs to wash up, Patsy still in her uniform and desperate to change out of it, but she holds back a while so she can go up with Delia.

“Did you have fun today?” she asks, almost shyly.

Delia’s lips quirk into her signature smile, and her eyes light up, “yes.”

She holds Patsy’s hand, their fingers gripping for no more than a few seconds before they’re forced to let go at the sound of Sister Evangelina’s raised voice in the hallway (“don’t you girls have anything better to do than make a mess of the kitchen! I hope you’ll be clearing this up!”), and they force back giggles as they run up the stairs to join the others.

-

Patsy forces herself awake in the middle of the night, her brow dripping with sweat, and her hands shaking. She has to gulp back tears as she struggles to pull herself up. For a moment she’s so disorientated she can’t work out where she is, can’t stop her hands trembling with panic as she searches the dark for answers. She feels the soft sheets under her feet, roots her fingers in the thick knit of her blanket, and softens.

In the bed beside hers, Trixie is fast asleep, her breathing soft and rhythmic. It acts as a metronome in the darkness, and Patsy attempts to match it to her own breathing, to calm her racing pulse.

She flicks the lamp on beside her bed and rubs her eyes. She has no idea what time it is, but outside is still pitch black, so its early. She struggles to think clearly, trying to remember her work schedule, what time she has to be awake.

Barbara is on call. She’d left just as they were going to bed, looking dog-tired. Perhaps she was still out?

Her head and her heart take a moment to battle out what she should do, before she makes a decision. She turns out the lamp. Trying her hardest not to wake Trixie, she slides out of bed, pulling her silk robe on over her sky blue pyjamas, and making her way slowly towards the door. It creaks as she pulls it open, a slither of light falling across Trixie’s sleeping body. Patsy glances over her shoulder. She doesn’t stir.

By the time she makes it to the room Barbara and Delia share, she’s already considering turning around and going back to bed. This is a bad idea. Every part of her tells her its a bad idea, but she needs it. She swallows back a lump in her dry throat, and pushes the door ever so slightly open.

The relief that washes over her as she sees Barbara’s empty bed allows her to let out the breath she’s holding. She closes the door and pads towards the second bed. She doesn’t yet know how she's going to explain this if Barbara returns before she leaves, but she decides she doesn’t care.

“Deels?” she whispers into the darkness.

Delia’s a light sleeper and stirs a moment later, with only a very gentle shake. As soon as she sees Patsy, she wakes, a look of concern flashing across her features immediately. She sits up, and pulls back the sheets, ushering Patsy into the bed.

“Are you alright sweetheart, what is it?” she hums, her fingers moving through Patsy’s hair, as she settles against her chest.

“I just… bad dreams,” she says, blinking back fresh tears, “god this is unbearable. You being here but not…”

“I know, I know,” Delia whispers, smoothing out her hair, pressing a kiss to the back of her head. She envelopes her in her arms, cradling her close and ghosting her lips to her cheeks once, twice, three times.

“I dreamt that I lost them again and then I lost you and I—“

“It’s alright, I’m here,” Delia’s voice is soft and calming. It feels like deja vu. Patsy relaxes in her arms, and Delia shifts them down the bed so they’re lying together, no space between them.

They drift off to sleep, both too tired to think of what will happen in the morning.

-

If Barbara noticed their nighttime intruder, she doesn’t let on in the morning. She was fast asleep when Patsy tip-toed out of the room in the early hours. Trixie, however, dives straight in with the questions as she lathers a slice of toast in marmalade.

“I’m just saying, it’s frightfully worrying to wake up and find your roommate gone entirely,” she says, staring down at her toast. Patsy wonders how she even makes eating breakfast look glamorous.

“I wasn’t _gone entirely,_ I just woke up early,” Patsy responds, “and besides, how were you to know I wasn’t out on a call?”

They continue to bicker over the table, Patsy entirely aware of Delia’s eyes watching her over the top of her tea, the mug no doubt covering a smirk. Barbara’s too tired to offer much to the conversation beyond stifled yawns, watching them like a game of tennis.

When Nurse Crane appears at the table to pour herself a mug of coffee, Patsy can’t help but feel uneasy under her gaze, held under a smile that seems to say ‘I know everything’, though she couldn’t possibly.

-

There’s something about knocking on Sister Julienne’s office door that sends her straight back to boarding school, and instantly makes her feel as though she’s done something wrong. Straightening out her freshly-pressed uniform, Patsy shifts uneasily from foot to foot, raising her hand gingerly to the wood and pausing before knocking.

Sister Julienne sits behind her desk with a warm, inviting smile as she gestures for Patsy to take a seat. She’s the opposite to the nuns teenage Patience was terrified of, but it’s not always easy to remember that, not until you’re in her presence. Even so, as Patsy sits down, her hands sweat as she wrings them awkwardly in her lap.

“What can I do for you today, Nurse Mount? I trust we find you in good health?”

Patsy wets her lips, a subconscious habit, and wonders if the tiredness in her eyes is as obvious as she fears it might be.

“Yes, thank you,” she says, with a small smile, “I know this is a little last minute, but I wondered if you wouldn’t mind letting me take a day off tomorrow?”

Sister Julienne seems surprised, her eyes widening just a little. The smile stays steady on her face as she folds her hands in front of her.

“May I ask why?”

Never having been somebody to beat about the bush, Patsy finds herself uncharacteristically hesitating. She doesn’t like to speak about her childhood or her family, not since Trixie blurted all her private secrets out in her absence, but she doesn’t think it will do her any good to lie to a nun, especially not after the last time, which still plays heavily on her mind. She doesn’t believe in any God, hasn’t for a long time, but she can’t help but consider the possibility that Delia’s accident had been some kind of sign.

“It’s the anniversary of my mother’s death,” she says, her voice holding surprisingly steady.

Sister Julienne’s face softens in sympathy, and she reaches a hand across the desk to touch Patsy’s, “of course you may take the day. There will be plenty of us to cover. I do hope you know you are always welcome here if I can be of any assistance to ease your troubles?”

“Thank you,” Patsy tells her, without adding that Sister Julienne taking Delia in was assistance enough.

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I didn't update this sooner - I honestly wasn't sure what to do with it because the show went in a different direction. However, after a couple of people asked me to update, I eventually knocked this final chapter out. Thank you for reading and for your patience.

“I thought I might find you here.”

Patsy twists around, surprised to see Delia standing behind her. She’s used to pre-empting her, to listening for the familiar sound of her approaching footsteps. Her mind must have been so deeply elsewhere that she didn’t hear her coming. She’s surprised, again, by her comment, because Patsy herself hadn’t expected to find herself here. It was all well and good taking a day off, but as soon as she had no clinic to attend to, no rounds of patients to check on, she had realised she didn’t quite know what to do with herself or how to keep busy.

It shouldn’t be surprising to her that Delia knows her better than she knows herself, though.

Her hands are covered in soft soil and she wipes them on the knees of her slacks, looking up, and squinting at Delia’s face in the bright summer sun, “I needed to keep busy,” she admits.

“Well this lot would certainly keep anybody busy,” Delia smiles, rocking back on her heels. It’s weird to have her so much taller. Patsy isn’t used to looking up at her. She looks like a sort of angel, the sun a radiant halo behind her head.

“I’m off for the afternoon. I thought you might like some company.”

Patsy tries not to let the utter relief she feels at those words flood through in her expression, but she’s sure Delia sees it anyway.

“Flowers are more your forte than mine,” she says, instead, grinning.

“Oh, I don’t know, you’ve always been good with your hands,” Delia quips, her mouth quirking into the usual smirk that makes Patsy’s knees weak. She holds a hand out to her, and Patsy accepts it, letting her pull her to her feet, “I think you’ve earned your rest.”

They’re still holding hands, even as they traipse through the garden and into the kitchen, where Patsy reluctantly lets go. She moves to the sink, washing the dirt from under her short fingernails with the same attention to detail she gives everything she does, whilst Delia moves around her, fixing them a drink and a slice of cake. It’s easy to pretend it’s just the two of them, alone, in the flat they share together, until they hear the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

“I have come in search of a Victoria sponge,” Sister Monica Joan announces, just as Patsy is wiping her wet hands on a towel, “I see now, that you also have given into your sweet tooth, and that I shan’t dine alone.”

“I’ll cut you a slice, Sister,” Delia says, holding a plate out to Patsy. She takes it, and their fingers touch for a moment longer than necessary, before Patsy sinks into her seat at the table.

-

Patsy doesn’t have any kind of ritual for mourning, or anywhere she has to go. She’s spent most of the anniversaries over the years avoiding thinking about it, working, continuing her usual routine to stop her mind from wandering. She isn’t really sure what made her ask for it off. She thinks maybe it’s because losing Delia is still so fresh in her mind, that she’s linked the pain somehow. Delia’s accident had forced her to relive her past losses, which had also made her nightmares suddenly more prevalent again.

Perhaps if her mother had a grave, a memorial of some kind, Patsy would have somewhere to focus her energy, some sort of obvious conclusion to her day, but she doesn’t. Instead, she and Delia leave before dinner - making excuses to a bewildered Trixie as they pass her on the steps - and spend much of the evening in a quiet cafe in Chelsea, where the drinks are overpriced, but the music is low enough to hold a conversation over. Most importantly, nobody knows them, and nobody bothers them. Delia insists on paying.

“I sometimes wonder,” Patsy whispers, tracing her finger around the edge of her saucer and staring into the dark liquid, “whether my mother would be proud of who I’ve become.”

“Oh Pats,” Delia’s fingers find hers, stilling them.

“She gave up so much for me.”

“Of course she would be proud,” Delia tells her, covering her whole hand with her own, brushing her thumb over the ridges of Patsy’s knuckle, “you are so kind, and generous, and strong, and… selfless.”

Raising her eyes to meet Delia’s, Patsy shakes her head, “but… us… I don’t think she’d…” she trails off, sighing quietly.

Delia seems to have used up all her words of encouragement. Patsy doesn’t really blame her; they haven’t covered this topic of conversation in years. They’ve both been so sure of themselves for so long. But very occasionally Patsy’s mind can’t help but drift, to think back to her mother and the gold cross that hung around her neck, and the bible passages she memorised, the prayers she whispered at night. Patsy doesn’t follow in any kind of religion, though of course living at Nonnatus has brought her closer to God, in some ways anyway. She respects the women she lives with; the sisters, and Barbara, for whom their faith offers so much reassurance.

“I’m proud of you,” Delia says, sitting up straighter. She squeezes her hand, before letting go, “I’m sure your mam would be too.”

Patsy smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes, and she’s sure Delia knows the thought is going to linger a while longer.

-

By the time the arrive back at Nonnatus, its quiet and dark. Phyllis is out on the night shift. Both the co-inhabitants of Patsy and Delia’s rooms are tucked up in bed. Patsy longs once again for their own place, so she could fall asleep with her face tucked into Delia’s shoulder and forget the world a little longer. 

She settles for a short kiss goodnight in the stairwell.

When she pushes the door to her room open, Trixie is still awake and flicking through a magazine. She raises her eyebrows when Patsy enters, but looks straight back at her article.

“You’re late home,” she mentions, and Patsy’s heart sinks. She doesn’t want another night of this.

Patsy slinks onto her own bed, lighting a cigarette. She doesn’t like to smoke in front of Delia. Her nose wrinkles at the smell, and even though she never says anything, Patsy knows she doesn’t like it. She’s been cutting back, but she needs one now.

“How did Mrs. Collins’ labour go?” she asks, avoiding the subject of her night out.

“Fine,” Trixie says, turning a page, “little boy.”

“Mr. Collins must be thrilled.”

“Rather, yes.”

They continue like this for a while, Trixie devouring her magazine, Patsy smoking her cigarette. After what feels like an age of awkward silence, Trixie puts her magazine down, and shifts down in the bed, switching out her bedside lamp.

“Goodnight,” she says, the tiniest hint of annoyance in her voice.

“Night,” Patsy whispers back.

-

Delia is already sitting at the kitchen table when Patsy and Trixie get there the next morning. It’s a rare sight. Her irregular hours mean she misses more meals than she attends. This morning, though, she doesn’t have work. She’s dressed in a floral dress - Patsy remembers it from one of their coffee dates last year - and a familiar looking green cardigan.

“Good morning!”

“Someone’s awfully cheerful for this ungodly hour of the morning,” Trixie says, stifling a yawn, “are you off out somewhere nice?”

Patsy busies herself with sorting out the breakfast foods, but keeps an ear on their conversation. Since moving in, Delia seemed to be getting along with Trixie better, but after last night’s awkward bedtime conversation, she isn’t so sure anymore. 

“Oh, no, I’m just going to the public library to collect some books.”

“I’d have thought you had enough - you could practically open a library in our room as it is!” Barbara teases, bustling in through the door and grabbing a slice of toast out of the rack.

“Isn’t that one of Patsy’s cardigans?” 

At the mention of her name, Patsy turns her head, feeling a familiar sense of dread. Of course - that was where she recognised it from; her own wardrobe.

Delia beams, running her fingers over the soft knit, “oh, yes, she let me borrow it.”

They meet eyes across the room and Patsy pulls a face.

Narrowing her eyes, and letting out a small huff, Trixie turns to Patsy, “I must say I’m frightfully cross. You’ve never once asked if I might like to borrow anything, and there’s dresses of yours I’ve had my eye on for months.”

Unsure if she’s serious or not (it’s so difficult to tell sometimes), Patsy goes to apologise but can’t think what to say. Thankfully, she’s saved when Sister Evangelina appears in the doorway and they’re rallied into their seats with no time for anything else to be said. It’s probably for the best.

-

Patsy spends most of the day on rounds, the afternoon ending with a delivery that both she and Barbara are called to. It’s good to spend some time in Barbara’s company. Since Delia moved to Nonnatus, Patsy knows she’s not spent enough time with her friends, certainly not as much as she’d have liked. Even sharing work is fun with Barbara’s personality quirks and nursing capabilities.

It’s a long and exhausting birth, not helped by the sweltering heat, and when both mother and baby (a little girl) are settled, it’s a relief to leave the stuffy house.

“How’s Delia settling in?” Barbara surprises her by asking, as they pack away their things.

Patsy mulls this over for a second, fixing what she hopes is a breezy smile to her face, “well, I think.”

“I must say, I’m enjoying having her as a roommate. She’s always in such good spirits. And there’s only so much Spanish vocabulary I can stand,” she blushes, “though I am glad Nurse Crane is enjoying her lessons, of course.”

It feels good to hear Barbara speak so highly of Delia, though of course Patsy knows other members of Nonnatus are growing just as fond of her; she can’t help but continue to feel a little rattled by Trixie.

They cycle back and by the time they arrive home, Patsy’s forehead is so sweaty her fringe is sticking to it. Normally, there’s no time to change before dinner, but they’ve made it back in good time, and she heads upstairs to freshen up and peel herself out of her uniform.

She’s surprised to find Delia and Trixie having a chinwag, Delia stretched out across Patsy’s bed, and Trixie doing much the same on her own. Patsy can’t help but feel her eyebrows raise. She lurks in the doorway a moment longer, neither of them noticing her presence.

“…so of course I ended up having to crawl up this drainpipe in the pouring rain and open the window for us to be let back inside. Thank goodness I spent most of my childhood climbing trees, eh?”

Trixie tosses her blonde head back, laughing until tears are in her eyes.

“Oh, Pats!” Delia says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and sitting upright, “sorry I didn’t see you there. Do come in - Trixie and I are just having a brew.”

“Delia was telling me all about some of the antics you two got up to during training - Patsy Mount I never knew you were such a mischief maker.”

Blushing, Patsy shuffles into the room and takes a seat beside Delia, “well, in all fairness I think most of the mischief was this one’s doing, not mine.”

“Not guilty,” Delia grins, holding her hands up.

Patsy looks at her for a long moment, her heart full of love and adoration, and most of all relief. When Trixie reaches across to offer her a biscuit, she takes one and chews thoughtfully, unable to wipe the stupid smile off her face.


End file.
